


come under the covers

by smalltalk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky is ok with that, Fluff, M/M, Sam is Not, Steve puts out for food, broke new yorkers represent, plot: it's cold lets bone, sam "not today" wilson, sam wilson does not deserve this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5796088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltalk/pseuds/smalltalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, snowmageddon 2k16, eh?-” Bucky smirks, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “Your place or mine?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	come under the covers

**Author's Note:**

> seriously guys don't go outside it's fucking cold in ny right now lmao  
> [ ♥︎ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsT4V2o1gHQ)

_Good Morning, New York!_

_It's your host Peter on this lovely Friday afternoon, and we’re broadcasting now because we love you all enough to freeze our asses off in this wretched studio. All of us are awaiting the impending Snowpocalypse, and we’re here to let you know how to prepare…_

_…Brooklyn is estimated to get from twelve to thirty inches of snow, I repeat, twelve to thirty inches. Make sure you have sufficient water and food to last at least a week. Get home before midnight and please, for the love of God, don't call into work the next day…_

_Find a cuddle buddy, stock up on hot cocoa, and find something to binge watch, guys._

_Thanks for tuning in, and make sure to follow @BROKELYN on snapchat to get updates throughout the storm._

_And as always, stay safe, New York, we’ll see you in the morning…_

 

__________

 

He was perfect.

 _Shit_.

Bite-sized and drowning in an oversized parka, a knit beanie covering a mop of wheat-blonde hair. Eyes more blue than the _Pacific,_ and fingers long and thin like an artist’s.

He’s standing there in the middle of an empty grocery aisle, examining the labels on a can of New England clam chowder like the decision to put it in his basket was a painful one to make. As if he didn't know that the amount of light radiating from his very being was enough to make the supermarket’s fluorescent lights flicker unsteadily.

He was absolutely _perfect_.

And he was probably going to starve this weekend, Bucky thinks, with a painful tugging at his heart.

There are (quite literally) only three cans left on the shelves- clam chowder and canned string beans. Otherwise, the store has pretty much been cleared, but Bucky guesses that everyone gets desperate whenever Channel 2 starts calling Winter Storm Jonas the _Snowmageddon,_ the _Snowpocalypse, Snowzilla,_ or, God forbid, the _Ziggy Snowdust_.

Bucky himself had stopped by the supermarket last-minute, just to stock on some beer (there was none, unsurprisingly), before the roads began to ice over. The reason being was that, since he hadn’t planned on spending the next few days snowed in with any company, a stomach full of alcohol was probably the next best thing to occupy his lonely self with.

“ _Achoo_!” Human Perfection suddenly sneezes, rubbing furiously at his red nose.

But now?

This changes everything.

Human perfection starts humming something under his breath, something punk-y and raw and familiar, taking all of the cans on the shelf and just scooping them into his basket. He starts to shuffle towards the checkout counter, shoulders visibly shaking in the cold. Bucky seriously aches to wrap the kid in a bundle of blankets and cuddle him until they're sweaty within the sheets.

 

(And also, because of other reasons.)

((Otherwise known as: Bucky definitely knows a chance when it presents itself.))

(((Which will later be dubbed: _Operation Snowzilla Meet-Cute 2K16_ )))

 

“Baby,” He whispers against the guy’s ear, close enough to get his point across, but far enough to prevent any potential lawsuit. “I can keep you a helluva lot warmer than a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup.”

Human Perfection’s neck gets bright red before he turns around fully, looking up at Bucky with something akin to hell’s eternal fire in his blue eyes.

 _Score,_ Bucky thinks. He’s definitely getting laid tonight. Or, he's definitely getting some cuddles. At least a pity phone number.

(He’ll take anything.)

In the heat of the moment, and the sudden burst of adrenaline that one might get whilst shamelessly flirting with a stranger in a supermarket, Bucky crowds the guy against the shelf with one arm braced above the other’s head.

“So, snowmageddon 2k16, eh?-” Bucky smirks, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “Your place or mine?”

 

__________

 

This boy's knuckles are as sharp as Bucky guessed they would be, leaving stinging pain across his left cheek. It's amazing.

 

" _Get away from me, you fucking_ _psycho_!"

 

__________

 

Bucky’s leaning against one of the shelves, cradling his cheek like a newborn, while Human Perfection sits a few feet away, still holding one of those cans of vegetables like it's the bane of his entire existence.

More shyly, he picks his head up and looks at Bucky, clearing his throat-

“Have you got food that isn’t canned?”

Bucky splits into a wide grin, even though it hurts his face like hell.

“I could cook you up a three course meal, love.” He says truthfully. “Pasta, stew, dessert afterwards, whatever you’d like.”

“Got a heater?” Human Perfection looks unimpressed.

“A god damned _fireplace_ , sweetheart.”

“Steve.” Human Perfection frowns. “That’s my name.”

“Bucky.” He sticks out his free hand, and Steve shakes it firmly.

“Sorry that I punched you.” Steve says, getting up off of the ground and dusting his bum off, motioning for Bucky to follow. “You kind of caught me off guard.”

“Hey, got your attention, didn’t it?” Bucky shrugs. He’s got the feeling that Steve went easy on his face.

“I guess. I’m not usually a first date kind of guy.” Steve tilts his head, staring at Bucky. Probably judging the man bun. Probably trying to decide whether or not Bucky’s a serial killer. “But I’m starving for something that isn’t Top Ramen, and my apartment’s heating hasn't been working for two weeks. I might actually die if I don't do this. How close do you live?”

“ _Shit,_ not close enough, apparently _._ Just around the corner.” Bucky laughs, sneaking an arm around Steve’s shoulders to keep him from shivering as they walk out the supermarket, and also because he’s a little shit like that.

And if the cashier glares at them all the way outside, then, hey, it's not Bucky’s problem he got a better deal than a 3-for-1 canned good special. Steve doesn’t punch him again, just leans in closer, and they play get-to-know-me-in-five-minutes-before-you-make-me-dinner 21 questions all the way back.

“Last question-” Steve takes a deep breath. “ _Cats or dogs?_ ”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky laughs, fishing his keys out of his coat pocket before unlocking the door. “That’s easy.”

“ _Both._ ” They say at the same time, grinning at each other in the doorway like a bunch of idiots.

 

_______

 

Next door, Sam Wilson presses his ear to the wall that he and Bucky share, trying to discern the conversation Bucky and his new friend are having, between nonstop laughing, the sound of a stovetop, and the television.

“You’re actually the worst spy I’ve ever seen. And I've seen Clint trying to catch me changing before.” Natasha shakes her head, rolling her eyes the way she does when Sam isn’t paying attention.

“ _Shh_!” Sam hisses, and then gasps. “ _Netflix_. I heard someone say Netflix.”

“I’m leaving now. I’ve got work in the morning.” She sighs.

“No, no _no_. This isn’t happening to me.”

“Bye, Sam. I'll be upstairs.”

“Of _all days."_ Sam whispers to himself, head in his hands.

The door shuts behind her.

“Nat?” Sam looks up, fully realizing that he’s now alone. The sounds of laughter from next door even more amplified in the silence. “Oh no. Oh _no._ ”

 

_______

 

_Good Morning, New York! Gwen here. It's currently 12:00 PM, Saturday afternoon, and the snow is just as bad as everyone said it would be, so if you're outside freezing your ass off: we told you so! Here's a comment from our mayor._

“Anything on the state of the blizzard?”

“Well, it's, uh, bad. And it's getting worse. But we’re handling it. Please don't step out today, folks. This is one of the worst storms of the century.”

“Anything else?”

“Um, should I repeat it in Spanish?”

_And that's all from our mayor!_

_There's really not much else to say, guys. The storm's not looking like its going to slow down until tomorrow. MTA bus and subway schedules are suspended as of this time, for you crazy folks who still think you can brave the Ziggy Snowdust._

_So to all of our friends outside clearing the roads, and all of our viewers who are getting laid right now: Good luck and stay safe!_

 

_______

 

So _maybe_ they’d crashed the night on the couch after the three course meal Bucky had promised, a marathon of M*A*S*H, followed by a couple episodes of Star Wars. It's cool. Bucky wasn't neck deep in love or anything like that. He just happened to be casually watching Steve’s sleeping face- the only part of his body peaking out from under the throw, with a certain kind of affection he didn't normally feel the morning after (and they hadn't even done anything but cuddle, he swears).

The wind seemed to shake the walls, a storm of dusty snow still waging a violent war against the city, and the road was coated in enough snow to make Bucky’s head spin at the thought of how much shoveling he'd have to do later on. The heater was on at full blast- Bucky would cringe at his energy bill later- but at least Steve wasn't shaking. The sweatpants and hoodie Bucky had given him helped, too.

Steve yawns a little, and Bucky smiles, ruffling his hair, before shuffling to the kitchen to start up some coffee.

“Hey, hey, get back here.” A voice calls out, rough and small, just as he does.

“How long you been awake?” Bucky laughs, but obeys, and leans over the couch to nudge Steve’s nose. He wrinkles his face together in response. It's fucking adorable.

“Long enough for my feet to start freezing.” Steve scoffs and cracks an eye open. “So get back in here. It's too early-"

"It's already twelve-thirty-"

"Too early." Steve whines. "C'mon. Breakfast later."

Bucky rolls his eyes and picks Steve’s legs up, placing them onto his lap, and slowly starts to massage the poor kid’s feet. They really are that cold, who knew.

(Later, he’ll wonder how a trip to the mart for some beer turned into _literally_ Netflix and chill, and then into completely friendly foot massages. Seriously.)

“So, this is my life from now on, then?" Bucky teases him a little, tickling the bottom of his feet until Steve starts to kick back. "Leeching off of my hospitality as I slave away in the kitchen?”

Steve hums happily, wiggling his toes. “Guess so. Might as well take advantage of the free food, free heat, free television-”

“My magical massaging skills-”

“That too.” Steve moans, and the breath gets all caught up in Bucky’s throat for a second, before he smiles widely.

“You're such a little shit.” He says without a hint of malice, as Steve burrows further into the blankets. “Shouldn't have brought you home with me.”

“No worries, Bucky, I’ll make it worth your while.” Steve smirks. “ _Gratitude is the sign of noble souls._ "

“You'd better, or I'm gonna haft'a start charging you by the hour.” Bucky huffs, looking away to hide the heat crawling up his neck.

Suddenly, Steve kicks his legs off of Bucky’s lap and straddles him, plopping his entire weight onto Bucky’s thighs and wrapping his skinny arms around Bucky’s neck.

“Hey there, stranger.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Bucky chokes a little, and wraps his hands around Steve’s waist.

_...How the tables have turned._

“You got some nerve, Stevie.” Bucky swallows audibly.

“I'm freezing. It’s a problem.” Steve shrugs, playing with the hair that Bucky has pulled back into a ponytail.

“No kidding.” Bucky huffs- Steve’s fingers are ice cold as they trail along his neck.

“Then I guess we'd better start moving.” Steve smiles earnestly, inching himself down, down, down, until he's off Bucky’s lap and his knees hit the floor, and oh- _oh_ \- alrighty. Okay. That escalated quickly.

“I'm down for that.” Bucky gasps.

There's a pun in there, somewhere, because Steve positively giggles, and _yup-_

“M _hmmm.”_ Steve nods. Cheeky.

“ _Totally down for that.”_

 

__________

 

Later:

“Holy- _fucking- shit!”_

 _“Mm-_ hmm!”

“Was _not_ expecting this much stamina outta your- _shit-_ skinny little ass.”

_Thump._

_“Kidding!_ I love your skinny ass, buddy-”

“Then shut the fuck  _up.”_ Steve groans. “I'm still speaking full sentences. Do something about that, would’ya?”

Bucky salutes, even if Steve can't see.

_“Yessir.”_

 

_________

 

Sam Wilson is wrapped up in three comforters with a pillow over his head. Partly to keep the cold away, and partly to keep the noises out. He’s afraid that, if he goes out of his room to look for his headphones, something worse will happen than the tiny bruise he's acquired on his forehead.

 

 **Sam** : THEY WENT AT IT SO HARD THAT A PICTURE FELL OFF MY WALL

 **Sam** : AND ONTO MY FACE

 **Nat** : tbh

 **Nat** : you should invite them over for dinner

 **Nat:** make that chicken roast you're so good at making

 **Nat:** and maybe some cheesecake, just to be nice

 **Nat** : then ask for a threesome

 **Sam** : NO

 **Nat** : your loss  ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

It's another five minutes before a particularly obnoxious, especially loud, “Oh _fuck, BuckyBuckyBuckybucky!_ ” penetrates his walls. Sam wonders how he was blessed with as much patience as he has, and questions what he did in a past life to deserve this fate.

“Oh _shit, Steve, oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiitttt-”_

_"Fuuuuuuck, oh-"_

_“Nope._ ” Sam throws himself out of bed and grabs his wallet from the nightstand. “Nope nope _nope_. Not in a million years. Goodbye world, Sam Wilson was too kind for you anyways.”

 

 **Sam** : is the cafe still open today !!!!

 **Nat** : shockingly, yes. no one else came in for work.

 **Nat** : come over and we can raid the bakery ?

 **Sam** : be there in twenty

 **Sam:** make that ten seconds

 **Nat** : cool. don't freeze to death crossing the street

 **Sam** : id rather freeze than listen to this badly written porno dialogue so

 **Sam** : its all good

 

But then-

“ _Holy_ shit _, Steve. I didn't know people could_ bend _like that.”_

_“Seriously? This is nothing.”_

 

“ _Nope_.” Sam downs some scalding hot coffee to warm himself up, before pulling his coat on. He's getting dinner somewhere else, or he’ll die trying. Literally. “ _Not today._ ”

 

_______

 

“Hey, look, Buck.” Steve presses his face against the window. He sounds completely fucked out and, frankly, it's hot. “That guy’s walking outside. Wonder where he's going.”

“That's my neighbor.” Bucky snorts, pulling Steve back down. “They _told_ us to stay inside. What an idiot, amirite?”

Steve nods lazily against his chest. “For real.”

 

_______

 

“How many slices of key-lime do you think it'll take to make you forget?” Nat asks once Sam steps inside, shivering and dripping with snow.

“There isn't a tangible figure large enough to be represented by numbers.” Sam says hollowly. “Let's start at an entire pie.”

  
  
  



End file.
